Let It Go
by Just-Another-Mindless-Writer
Summary: Emma made it a point to never go and watch Killian sing. But when desperate times calls for desperate measures, Emma decides it's time to listen to the song in Killian's heart, even if she doesn't like what she hears. Two-Shot


**Apologies to anyone who reads my other stories. My subscription to Microsoft Office ran out and I didn't have the money to do much about it since I'm saving for my trip to America next summer (Woo!)**

 **Anyway, it's back now, and everything should be updated within the next few weeks!**

 **Let me know what you think of this story, I don't own the characters or the song used.**

* * *

Emma made it a point to never go and watch Killian sing.

She knew, even if he never admitted it, that his music was his own way of escaping the world he'd found himself in. It was his way to express whatever it was he was feeling inside – a haven of sorts - and if Killian couldn't tell her what was going on in his own heart to her face, then who was she to eavesdrop to it in song. But that day had been different. That day something vital inside of Emma had snapped, and she'd found herself with nothing more than a thread to hold onto.

And so, in a desperate need to find something to home her, to reattach the broken strings hanging in her heart, she'd gone to the bar she knew Killian frequented at, the one they had met in, and she hid herself in the back, out of sight to listen to the song his heart was playing. She'd already quit her English Literature class; her grades having never been quite up to scratch anyway, and her best friend was off getting engaged and moving in with her fiancé. But Emma - Emma was drifting like a ship lost at sea. If anyone understood what that meant, it was Killian, a soul just as lost as her own.

The bar itself was small, mostly full of the regulars that stumbled their way in off of the streets of Boston anywhere between 4 in the afternoon and midnight. It wasn't a classy place, but it was cheap, and Killian had said before that it reminded him of the old English pubs that smelt like lingering smoke and spilt whiskey. It was an acquired taste, one that Emma had quickly come to find welcoming with its low ceilings and sticky carpets, even if others turned up their noses.

And then the crowd around he fell silent as Killian began.

" _From walking home and talking loads,"_ Killian sang, Emma having slipped towards the bar just as he'd finished setting up. She knew immediately this song involved her. The first night that had met Killian had insisted on walking her home after Mary-Margret had disappeared after a phone call from David. They'd spent hours wandering through the night, smiling quietly at one another beneath the street lights and basking in the cold December air until their fingers lost all feeling. It was bizarre, Emma thought, to find someone who she could talk with without the pitying glances that came whenever the word orphan was uttered or foster home spilled from her lips. It was almost refreshing to find such a kindred spirit

" _To seeing shows in evening clothes with you."_ She allowed herself to smile at that, the memory not fresh in her mind, but far from faded. They'd been on one of their walks together, bypassing a theatre barely four blocks from Emma's apartment. She'd spotted the poster framed against the outside wall and a curiosity had sparked inside of her. So naturally, she crossed the road and she had begun to investigate. Killian had followed, of course, his eyes widening for a moment as he looked at the image of a woman dressed in black sat alone on a chair beneath a spotlight, nothing but empty stage surrounding her. As a play to impress her, she assumed, Killian had tld how much he cared fo the theatre and how passionate he was when it came to plays. Emma, feeling slightly foolish from having brought up the topic in the first place, had agreed, saying how much she cared for the arts as well.

That was how the following weekend, Emma and Killian found themselves stumbling out of the theatre after the show had finished, laughing like morons as they clutched onto one another. Emma couldn't remember whose idea it had been to see the show in their finest evening clothes, but something told it had been Killian's. And so there they were, two idiots on the streets of Boston, Emma in a knee length green dress she'd bought from a thrift shop with what little money she had and a pair of black high heels she'd borrowed from Mary-Margret, her hair braided by Ruby into a messy but sophisticated crown. Killian, to his credit, had cleaned up too, even going to far as to wear a waistcoat and a black blazer over his blue shirt. Emma had tried teasing him into a tie, but it had been to no avail. They'd both hated the performance, neither of them having a deep enough mind to truly understand just what it was the woman in black had been complaining about for the entire three hours, but it had been enough for them both to admit they knew nothing about theatre. Killian's artistic knowledge didn't go past his music and Emma's, well, hers was non-existent.

" _To nervous touch, and getting drunk,"_ He could be awfully shy, Emma remembered, always spotting him in the corner of her eye reaching for her and then pulling away at the final moment, like a scared child debating how close to put his hands towards the flame. The alcohol had helped, of course, the two of them going from awkward teens to laughing idiots after just a few glasses of rum, their tolerance low and their inhibitions even more so. " _To staying up and waking up with you,"_ It was that little catalyst, the burning in their throats and mouths, that kick-started one of Emma's more unforgettable nights. It hadn't been the first time for either of them, but it had been their first night together. Both of them, rolling clumsily around the sheets, Emma giggling when Killian underestimated the size of her bed and tumbling off the side, him roaring with laughter in turn when he pulled her down on top of her. It had been clumsy and chaotic and everything Emma had ever hoped for in a college fling. But, like everything else in her life, the fling was not built to last.

 _"But now we're sleeping at the edge, h_ _olding something we don't need,"_ They each had their pasts, their own secret lives that they kept to themselves like a locked box in their hearts, too afraid to let the pain go because – to Emma, at least – the pain kept them strong, stopped them from falling too hard or too fast. It was the pain that kept the love at bay, something Emma wanted desperately.

 _"All this delusion in our heads i_ _s_ _gonna_ _bring us to our knees,"_ She'd thought that by keeping it hidden, that Killian would never know about anything, he wouldn't see that behind her smiles and judging eyes was a broken little girl. The walls of her fortress stood tall and proud as ever, but beyond them lay ruins, shattered windows and rubble crushing any hope and happiness she thought she had left. For Killian to see such carnage would be to loose him. And despite her denying it, she knew that wasn't what she wanted. Or, at least, she didn't want to lose what they had, the careless freedom around one another, the 'ask no questions, tell no lies' ruling that kept the two of them sane. She wasn't quite ready to let that go.

 _"So come on let it go , j_ _ust let it be,"_ He sang, his eyes slipping closed for a moment as he tapped his foot slowly with the beat. Emma could hardly see him through the sea of heads, but she saw enough, his face between two men's shoulders, his scruffy hair falling over his eyes and his shirt unbuttoned far too much to be modest. He knew she had baggage, ghosts that followed her down empty hallways and demons that whispered harshly into her ear as she slept, but he never pressed, a favour she returned. He asked, of course, a couple of times now, but she'd always brushed him off, told him it was nothing to worry about, or she'd even joked that she was an escaped serial killer on one occasion. It wasn't enough to stop his curious mind, but it was enough to get him to stop asking. " _Why don't you be you, and I'll be me. Everything that's broke, leave it to the breeze. Why don't you be you, and I'll be me."_ It made sense to her now, more so that it had before. Killian didn't just want Emma to release her baggage and open herself up, he wanted her to share herself with him, and he would do the same in return. He wanted honesty, completely and totally between them, for Emma to lay her heart bare and let him pick and prod at the broken remains for any sign of survivors. He wanted her, _all of her,_ in fact. Emma simply wasn't sure she was ready to give it.

And judging by the turn the song had taken, Killian knew as much.

" _Fr_ _om throwing clothes across the floor,"_ He continued, his voice still soft, but the tone changed to something far more solemn, a longing she'd not detected in the previous, far more nostalgia verse. Emma could hardly complain. He didn't know she was here, listening to him bare his heart to strangers because she was too scared to see what it held. If the answers she got today were not what she'd hoped to hear, she had no one to blame but herself. " _to teeth and claws and slamming doors_ _at you,"_ the two of them together were definitely a force to be reckoned with, anyone with eyes saw that. But when they turned against each other it was explosive, like a tornado crashing into a live volcano, the two of them erupting in a volatile display of shouts and curses that would end one of two ways. Either Emma would leave, Killian slamming the door behind her in a rage, or, Killian would slam the door and press her against it, their bodies fusing together because they knew what their minds did not - that they were precisely where they belonged. The angry makeup sex was always their most passionate, harsh words still rattling around in their minds as they fought for

The angry makeup sex was always their most passionate, harsh words still rattling around in their minds as they fought for dominance over one another until they'd forgetting why they'd fought in the first place. But there was always something that stuck and with every argument, Emma's heart became that much heavier, his words hanging from her soul like icicles, ready to drop down and impale her at the most unlikely of moments. Like their last argument, the one they'd had the day before, where Killian had told Emma he thought she could see a future here, and a happy one at that. Only she'd bit back with a retort, her voice cold and snarky as she said 'let me guess, with you'. That was the last time she'd seen his face before now, and the pain may be hidden, but Emma could still see it bearing on him as he continued his song.

" _If this is all we're living for, why are we doing it, doing it, doing it anymore,"_ The words hit her like a punch to the gut. There they were, Killian's true thoughts. She knew what they had was far from easy, in fact, it drove her to the point of pulling at her own hair from insanity most of the time. But despite that, Emma had never thought she'd hear him say he wanted to give it up. Sure, she herself had thought about it on occasion. Actually, that was why she was here, to see if the last thread was salvageable, or if it was simply to time to cut it loose and run away like she always did. Because one thread is all it would take, but she could already begin to feel it fraying.

" _I used to recognise myself, it's funny how reflections change,"_ He had changed, Emma knew. When she'd met him, Killian had been even more mopey than he was now, but far more guarded as well. He'd been a cool, smooth talking British man in America, his dark hair and crystal eyes enough to lure in any woman of his choosing. That was, of course, until Emma. She had made him vulnerable, so much so that he had offered a piece of his past to her, telling her the meaning of the tattoo on his arm, the memento to the love he had lost. And in turn, she had told him about prison. Not the how or the why, of course, but enough that he knew where she'd spent her time between the ages of 17 and 18, and she'd obviously kept her son a secret too, having learnt not to dwell on the poor boy she could only dream was having the life he deserved.

The problem was, she had wanted to tell him, in her heart at least, but those walls had held her back. The truth was, he made her vulnerable too. " _When we're becoming something else, I think it's time to walk away."_ She felt those words too, the raw honesty behind them smarting like a brand. They had been so very different in the beginning, just like the song. They were all laughs and smiles, staying up all night and sleeping in one another's arms all day. They were tragic and messy, but they were real. That felt like a distant memory now. Now they were arguments, and broken promises, secrets and walls. There was nothing pure left of them anymore. Their relationship had become something of a wound, and like all wounds, if left undealt with it would began to fester. Killian was right. It was time to walk away.

But as the song continued, Emma found herself staying. She knew she shouldn't, not when her mind was made up, but she figured she'd stayed for most of the song now, another minute or so wouldn't hurt. Besides, once it was over he'd been too busy with packing up and shaking hands with people complimenting his performance and then he'd probably grab himself a drink in the process. Emma would have plenty of time to leave without him ever knowing she had been there. It likely wasn't the goodbye he'd want, nor the one he deserved, but it was all Emma had the stomach for. Killian had hope, potential and a future before him, even if he himself didn't see it. She was half-certain he wouldn't miss her too much when she was gone.

" _T_ _rying to fit your hand inside of mine when we knew it just don't belong,"_ He sang and Emma was grateful to hear his words. They helped, she thought, with the wound. " _There's no force on earth could make me feel right, no – Whoa."_ Sometimes to heal, more damage needed to be done, like pulling out a bullet. Killian was that bullet and his song was the fingers probing deep beneath Emma's skin, fighting to pull the obtrusive object out. Once it was, the wound would seal and everything would alright again. " _Trying to push this problem up the hill when it's just too heavy to hold,"_ It was hard to tell what the problem was, she thought, or at least in his mind. Was it their relationship, the arguments and the fights, or was it her? Was Emma the problem that Killian was fighting so hard to preserve, to push her and her closed heart up that hill and have them see the sun once more on the other side. " _I think_ _now'_ _s_ _the time to let it slide."_

" _So come on let it go, just let it be, why don't you be you and I'll be me,"_ He repeated once more and Emma couldn't help but wonder if he still held some kind of hope for them, if he believed the problem could conquer the hill and roll to freedom on the other side. She knew she did, at least, part of her did. But it wasn't a big enough part, nor was it dominant enough over her soul. The thread was fraying quicker now and Emma knew it wouldn't be long before the tether between was severed, leaving them both as broken souls on opposite sides of the rolling hill. She could shoulder her problems and she could run from her ghosts, but she would do so alone. " _Everything_ _that's broke, leave it to the breeze, let the ashes fall, forget about me."_ That was enough for Emma. She'd almost tuned out the final part of the song, only noticing its end when the crowd roared around her, jostling her back to life.

Killian was standing now, smiling at the crowd with his guitar in hand, the tiredness in his eyes noticeable even from where she stood. For a moment she could have sworn he looked at her, right into her eyes, but it passed and with it the thread snapped, giving Emma the will to move despite the throbbing pain in her chest. Before Killian had even made it down off of the stage, Emma was gone, ready to start her life anew somewhere else. It was time to let her wounds heal once and for all and to rebuild herself from the rubble, to be a lonely girl once more.


End file.
